The Highwayman sotfk-1

by R. A. Salvatore

  He moved by the bed, a small cup in hand, and it wasn't until he was even with SenWi's head that he noticed her looking back at him.

  He jumped back, his eye opened wide, and he nearly dropped his cup, his hand suddenly shaking so violently that its contents splashed over its sides. Finally he managed to set the cup down on the small table by the bed, and he nearly fell atop SenWi, scrambling to get close.

  "Are you there?" Garibond asked.

  "Garibond," she replied, and with great effort, she managed to bring one hand up to stroke the man's strong, hairy arm.

  "By God, I thought you'd never awaken," Garibond whispered. "All these days and weeks…"

  His admission of time's passage struck SenWi hard, and she, too, opened her eyes more widely. "How long?"

  "You've been away from me for almost five weeks."

  SenWi found her breath hard to come by. "Bran?" she gasped.

  Garibond's smile comforted her.

  "I saw him just two days ago," he explained. "Every passing week, the brothers at the chapel afford him more liberties, though he is not yet able to move about unrestricted, and certainly not out of the chapel. He longs for you-I heard that in his every word! But he cannot come to you, for fear that you would be discovered. Laird Pryd and that son of his are a stubborn lot."

  SenWi had no idea what he was talking about at that blurry moment, but she was thrilled that her dear Bran was apparently alive and well. "Some day," she replied, and left it at that.

  Garibond nodded and started propping up her pillows. "Let us sit you up a bit," he explained. "You have to get some food in you."

  SenWi's face scrunched up, for the thought did not appeal to her, but that only prodded Garibond on more forcefully.

  "For the sake of the child in your swollen belly," he said, and SenWi felt his hand touch her there. When she looked down to regard that gentle hand, she saw that she was beginning to show her condition. "A woman with child has to eat," Garibond insisted. "You're feeding two!"

  SenWi nodded and didn't resist as Garibond helped her to sit up, and then he put the cup to her lips and let her sip its broth contents. Before long, she had drained the vessel, and Garibond smiled and went out to get her some more.

  That, too, she drank, and she was feeling better with each sip of the warm liquid that washed down her parched throat.

  "We will get you a solid and hearty meal as soon as you're able," Garibond assured her. "I promised Dynard that I would take care of you, and I'm not about to let your stubbornness get in the way of that."

  SenWi even managed a smile, albeit a weak one. Brother Dynard's eyes and thoughts were fixed on the wider world beyond Chapel Pryd's open gate as he swept the falling leaves from the courtyard's paths. It was late morning, and already he had been out longer this blustery autumn day than he had in many weeks.

  SenWi was somewhere out there, pregnant and ill. Every fiber in Brother Dynard urged him to run off to her bedside, to hold her and kiss her, to tell her that he loved her, and to help her back to him. Nothing else in all the world, not even his beloved Church, seemed to matter beside that image of stricken SenWi, for though Garibond had assured him in their brief meeting that she was strong and would pull through, Dynard had heard the undercurrent of fear in his seemingly confident tone. SenWi was in trouble, and for her own sake and despite his every desperate desire, Dynard could not go to her.

  He was gaining some measure of freedom here, at least. He had only recently learned of the accident in Father Jerak's chamber and the destruction of the Book of Jhest, and while his spirit sank at the great loss to his brethren, and while his heart ached at the thought of his most precious work undone, all that paled in comparison to his fears for SenWi and his unborn child.

  Until very recently, Brother Dynard had believed that his greatest contribution would be that book he had so painstakingly transcribed. But now he knew the truth: his greatest achievement would not be measured in copied words but in living flesh, in his child.

  He prayed that SenWi would fight through this illness that had befallen her and that one day he would be able to see their child and hold their child.

  Ironically, Dynard recognized that the destruction of the book had probably facilitated his best chance in seeing SenWi or his child again. From what he had learned over the last weeks of his increasing freedom, Father Jerak had visibly relaxed since the book had burned. Perhaps Jerak saw in its destruction the threat of wayward Brother Dynard lessened, or perhaps he was just growing tired of his vigilance. Either way, it didn't matter to Dynard, as long as the result put him back where he belonged, in SenWi's loving arms.

  Brother Bathelais called to him, and that reminded him to keep the broom moving. He glanced back to his superior, who was standing on the chapel's stone stoop. When Dynard returned his focus fully to his sweeping, Bathelais called to him again, bidding him to come inside.

  Dynard moved into the shadows within the chapel door tentatively, for he had caught a hint of anger in his superior's tone. Bathelais, waiting for him just inside, stood impatiently, tapping his foot on the stone, his arms crossed over his chest.

  "Yes, brother?" Dynard asked, keeping his head bowed and his gaze to the floor.

  "We have received word concerning you from Chapel Abelle," Bathelais explained.

  Dynard's gaze came up, eyes wide. Was it possible that his return had attracted the notice of the leaders of the great mother chapel itself?

  "Of course we dispatched a courier to Chapel Abelle with word of your return and your surprising cargo, book and human," Bathelais explained. "Your fall from the teaching of Blessed Abelle is no small thing-not as inconsequential as your death might have proven."

  Dynard accepted those stinging words without argument.

  "The brothers at the mother chapel will speak with you," Bathelais went on. "As soon as winter lessens its grip upon the land, you will travel north to deliver a full accounting of your journeys in the land of Behr. A pity that the book does not survive, for I am certain that it would have proven of great interest to our brethren."

  Brother Dynard felt his knees grow weak beneath him, and it took all his control to stop from falling over. "W-when?" he stammered, for all of Bathelais's words beyond that first simple statement had flowed right past him.

  "At the first onset of spring," Bathelais repeated, "as soon as the roads are clear."

  "How long? I mean…where will I…will I return to Chapel Pryd?"

  He saw from the expression of Brother Bathelais that his panicky questions were inciting more than a bit of curiosity, and it was only with great effort that Brother Dynard managed to find some measure of control. Behind the placid facade he managed to paint upon his face, his thoughts were swirling and tumbling. He had to get word to SenWi, had to find some way for her to meet him on the road. How could he not? How could he walk away from this place, from her, from his child?

  His child!

  If he were to depart in the early spring, the baby would have just been born. How could he leave?

  How could he not? he realized a moment later. Even if he turned away from the Church of Blessed Abelle now, he would hardly be a free man, and certainly not free from their suspicion and watchfulness. If he went to SenWi, then SenWi would be found.

  "Is there something wrong, Brother Dynard?" he heard Bathelais say, and when he looked at the man, he recognized that the question had likely been asked several times already.

  "No, no," he blurted, and he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "No, Brother Bathelais, of course not. It is just that I am weary of the road."

  "The knowledge you brought back with you from Behr is important to us, of course. If we are to send any more brothers into that vast southern land, as we surely will, then the information you provide may help keep them safe."

  "There are fewer threats to us in the southern lands than you believe," Brother Dynard dared to reply, but he did so absently, his mind still caught on the horrible notio
n of this impending separation from his dear SenWi. In the silence that ensued, Dynard felt the gaze of Bathelais upon him and looked back at him.

  "I offer this as your friend," Bathelais sternly said. "When you are before the brothers of Chapel Abelle, you would do well to adjust your thinking more clearly in compliance with the edicts of the Church concerning the people of Behr. You would do well to remember, Brother Dynard, that you went there to teach them, not to be taught by them."

  Brother Bathelais stared at him hard a few moments longer, then spun on his heel and stormed away.

  Dynard leaned heavily on his broom, needing its support. It wasn't until nearly a week after awakening that SenWi realized just how badly her leg had been injured. The limb would not hold her weight. Even using her Jhesta Tu powers of healing and concentration, SenWi knew that it would be a long time before she walked again, if ever.

  That wasn't her primary concern, however. Her body was in such a weakened state that she could hardly find her line of chi, and even less so, that of the child within her. The battering she had taken, from that day she had used her powers to draw the poison from the poor condemned girl on the road, went too far, SenWi feared. Now every day was a struggle-to get enough nourishment in her to keep her child alive, to keep herself active so that her muscles would not atrophy any further, to regain her focus and enough strength so that she could get herself and the child through the trials of labor and birth.

  She spent many hours sitting by the window, admiring the beauty of the vibrant coloring appearing on the leaves of the deciduous trees. SenWi had never seen anything like the autumn foliage or the dance of the leaves as they tumbled from the trees, catching the wind and spinning through every unpredictable fall. Bran Dynard had told her of the seasons in his homeland, something unknown in southern Behr, and Garibond had expanded upon that information now that he had the visual elements showing clearly before them. The leaves would fall and the trees and the land would go dormant through the winter season, with its blowing snow and bitter cold. And then in the spring, the buds would bloom anew, renewing the cycle of life.

  SenWi found that notion comforting through the long days, and she used it to bolster her resolve at those dark times when she felt as if she must fail.

  All would be better in the spring.

  "They believe the book destroyed," Garibond said to her, surprising her as she sat deep in thought by the window one blustery day, the air alive with spinning leaves. "Even Dynard."

  SenWi looked at him, tilting her head, not sure of how she should take that.

  "He is devastated by the thought that his work of all those years is no more," Garibond went on, and SenWi nodded.

  "But you did not tell him."

  Garibond shrugged. "I would do anything to lessen his pain at this time-and most of that pain comes from his separation from you and not from the loss of the book. But, no, I did not tell him. I feared that someone might be listening."

  SenWi turned her head, scrutinizing him all the more. "You feared that he would be foolish enough to again try to foist that book upon them."

  Garibond didn't answer.

  "He is a stubborn one," SenWi admitted with a laugh. She leaned over to the side then, bracing herself through every inch of the difficult motion. She slipped her hand under the bed and with great effort brought forth the Book of Jhest. "Do you read?"

  "I am one of the few outside the Church of Abelle who does, yes," Garibond replied. "I learned very young, alongside Bran."

  SenWi set the book on her lap and drew it open. "Come, then," she said. "I will teach you the language of Jhest. You will see what your friend has spent the last years of his life creating."

  Garibond hesitated.

  SenWi didn't allow herself to blink. Her duty was coming clear to her now. She didn't know when or if her beloved husband would return to her, and she could hardly be confident of her own health throughout the ordeal of this pregnancy.

  She needed someone to trust.

  Her child needed someone to trust.

  "Come," she insisted. "We've not much time." When Garibond reacted to that comment with obvious discomfort, she added, "The sun is already nearing its apex."

  Garibond stepped back out of the room, but only to retrieve a second chair.

  13

  Orphan Born Searing lines of fire ran through her ravaged body, but SenWi did not cry out. They were down in a smoky tunnel where Garibond thought that they would be safer during this trying and noisy process. Up above, the air crackled with energy as bolts of lightning split the sky; and the sulfuric residue, that peculiar smell and tingle of a thunderstorm, permeated even down here.

  Garibond continued talking about the weather, about how unusual it was for a thunderstorm at this time of year. Winter had barely let go, with little snow remaining and three weeks left until the equinox. "These storms are usually for the middle of spring," Garibond explained, trying to sound excited and engaging. His voice trailed away, for he saw clearly that SenWi wasn't paying him any heed, that she was locked in a life-and-death struggle against the waves of agony.

  Never had he felt so helpless. He hadn't ever watched a woman give birth before, and now here he was, serving as midwife, as the only support, and her pregnancy had not been going well for many months.

  He bent low and whispered, "What can I do for you?"

  SenWi didn't answer, other than to take his offered hand and squeeze hard.

  Inside her, SenWi felt as if someone were grabbing her line of ki-chi-kree, pulling and jerking it back and forth. She tried to find some sense of center, some focus of energy, but there simply was none. Spasms shot through her as if they were drops of acid being splashed within her.

  She reached with all her powers to try to touch her child, to try to find its life energy. And there was something strong in her womb, a powerful force. But it was not aligned, she understood; it felt as if the thread of this one's chi had been frayed.

  SenWi couldn't pause and consider that. The pain and sense of urgency were too great. They tore at her and pressed the air from her lungs. She transferred all her pain to her breathing and used that as her focus, puffing in short gasps, gradually developing a rhythm that she transferred to her thumping heart.

  And she felt Garibond's hand, a tangible connection to the physical world. She squeezed that hand with all her strength and let the pain flow through her clutching fingers to dissipate beyond her corporeal being.

  But more pain built within, faster than she could let it flow from her; and deeper within, the pressure built against the inside of her birth passage. She felt her skin ripping, felt a sudden surge of agony and a contraction of her muscles so powerful that she was certain they must be tearing themselves apart. It went on and on, and she had no sense of time's passage.

  Garibond wasn't holding her hand anymore, and she had to fight off a wave of panic, thinking that she must have fallen away from all the world.

  She felt him between her legs, then and heard his shout.

  "Push!"

  He called to her again and again, and each repetition gave the failing woman a little bit more to hold on to. SenWi gathered all her strength, all her energy, and all her disciplined focus. She lifted the thread of her chi, balling it into a formidable force just above her struggling child. Then, as surely as if she were pushing with her hands or legs, she forced that energy down, down.

  Her skin ripped a bit more, and then she felt a rush of sudden coolness, a great release of pressure, and all her lower body went comfortably numb.

  She lay there for some time in the cool darkness of semi-consciousness, her body falling into a deep state of relaxation, muscles sinking into the bed as if she were being swallowed by it-and that was a sensation that the battered and exhausted woman welcomed. Moments slipped past in blissful emptiness, with not a spot of light marring the blackness or a whisper of sound defeating the silence.

  Not a whisper of sound.

  Not the beating of her
heart.

  Not the cry of a newborn baby.

  She was dying. She knew that, and she didn't fight it. Not then. Perhaps it was time for her to surrender.

  Her child was not alive. SenWi realized that her child was not crying, was making no sounds at all. She concentrated her life energy and grabbed at her heart, forcing it to beat. She sent her thoughts back through that blackness, as if she were climbing out of a deep hole, and she finally saw a glow of light. She raced for it, desperately now, as she realized that her child was not yet alive.

  Her eyes opened and the room came into focus. She saw Garibond standing off to the side, the child on a table in front of him, blue and still. He glanced back at her, and SenWi could see his tears.

  Garibond shook his head.

  SenWi rolled off the bed and to her feet. She swayed and staggered and nearly fell. She felt the warmth of her own blood running down her legs, and knew that she was bleeding too heavily. But she forced herself into a stumbling walk to the table, where she placed both her hands on her child.

  It was a boy, a beautiful boy, a perfect boy.

  His life force was so weak, barely a sliver of energy in his little body. Nor was that thread of energy straight, the typical and expected line of ki-chi-kree from forehead to groin. No, she sensed that her child's life line was interrupted at many points, was wavering where it should have been straight and solid. He was not perfect, SenWi realized with horror. He was damaged, badly so; and SenWi knew that it was from the snake venom she had willingly taken into herself when she had healed the condemned girl. As the venom had attacked her, so it had assailed her defenseless infant.

  That realization didn't slow her in the least. Garibond grabbed one of her arms and cajoled her to relent and go lie down. He might as well have been grabbing at iron.

  Was it guilt driving her? Was it anger?

  SenWi didn't care. All that mattered to her was that her baby wasn't breathing, that her baby was damaged, perhaps fatally. She found the connection to his life energy and threw her own into him, offering herself fully to him. She let her chi energy flow out of her and into the child.